So it far it seems that South Korea is a very safe place. Safe as in there is very low crime. Low crime as in there really is none. That is amazing to think about, especially considering the mass amount of people who live in this general area referred to as Seoul. Maybe the name has something to do with it?

Most Americans lock their doors, lock their cars, and set the Brinks home security system at least twice each day. And usually they live in a neighborhood on a street with people they know, who also go through the same security process. Now, I am not saying they shouldn’t, it’s just something that is engraved in our culture, a bit of an everyman for himself mentality lies underneath a desire to help others.

I believe it is something that is rooted in culture. Perhaps early Americans came to America and grabbed as much land as they could manage to keep others away from. Here in Korea no one has any land; so there isn’t really anything to defend. Even out in the countryside, you’ll pass a small town and in the center will be a few tall apartment buildings where everyone resides. It totally goes against most American ideals, but it seems to work here.

In the past month the newspapers have been covered with articles about the sinking of a South Korean corvette called the Cheonan in the Yellow Sea. The ship began sinking at about 9:30pm on the 20^th of April; about a month ago. Just this weekend, a month later, South Korean officials reported that the cause of the sinking ship to be a torpedo fired from a North Korean submarine that had snuck into South Korean waters a day or two prior to the attack.

Everyone “knew” North Korea was behind the attack. Who else possibly could have attacked a ship in the Yellow Sea? Taiwan? I don’t think they have an army. China? They are too smart to attack such a strong US ally that isn’t Google. But everyone knew it was North Korea and that pleasant old chap Kim Jong-il.

Kim Jong-il is getting old. He’s looking for a fight. His three sons aren’t quite panning out the way he would have liked them to. The oldest is very westernized, probably has a Brinks Home Security system or something, so that won’t work. The middle one is a bit light in the loafers. Probably not gay, as that isn’t really openly discussed here yet, but either way, he is not seen as strong enough to run a dictatorship. He probably has feelings or emotions or something.

So that leaves the third son; who seems to be quite gung-ho about the whole idea of succeeding his father. I’ve often thought he should change his name to Kim Gung-ho, but from what I’ve heard, Communist governments don’t take too well to suggestions.

Kim Gung-ho would be an idiot to pass up an opportunity like this. He has two older brothers that aren’t interested or seen as fit to inherit the throne, so it’s his for the taking. This never happens in any fairy tales. Communist or Free Market. Kim Gung-ho is still too young to lead, so for the time being it’s up to big Kim to continue leading although his health is failing.

In America, we would have wanted names and blood within 24 hours of an unprovoked attack on American soldiers. But that is exactly what Kim Jong-il was hoping for. South Korea kept their head on straight, mourned, studied and collected. They built a case peacefully and systematically against North Korea. No retaliation; instead they made a science fair project and are presenting it to The US, China and others on an international stage.

South Korea knew it was North Korea, but they also knew Big Kim was just looking to pick a fight. They responded with tact and poise.

A few days ago I was riding the subway on my way to point B from point A. I almost always stand on the subway, I feel that I am a visitor here, I prefer to let others sit. While standing there, I noticed a girl sitting in front of me with earphones in, her phone and her debit card sitting open on her lap. Just asking to be taken right as someone exited the train. No one did.

People leave bags unattended, wallets in back pockets on jam-packed subways, police don’t even carry guns. What’s the point? Koreans all work together for the common good. They want each other to succeed, until recently, many desired a unified peninsula; and I am sure many still do. But the whole idea of thinking before acting really resonates here.

It’s a concept that I hope I can bring home with me. I don’t think I will want to get a vacation home in a big apartment building, but I do think that helping others to work towards a greater communal good is something we can all take heart in. Keep in mind North Korea is the communist nation, and they have nothing. South Korea is a thriving republic and they sure have come a long way in the past 50 years.

Have you heard the saying, “you don’t really know what you’ve got until it’s gone?” I know I have, which is how I am able to use it for this blog. This weekend I had the opportunity to travel outside of Seoul. I have been in South Korea over 4 months and had not once ventured out of the city. So, when given the chance to check out beautiful Gyuon Ju, I took it.

Gyuon Ju is a historic town on the south east coast of the peninsula. A coastal town with a rich history spanning back more than 50 years! 50 years is a long time by Korean standards, or should I say, in Korean years. Similar to dog years, except you divide by 7. Conflict with Japan took a great toll on Korea, and thus, almost everything has been created, constructed and built in the past 50 years. But many structures in Gyuon Ju, which was originally the capital city, survived.

Leaving Seoul really exposed me to all of the things I take for granted in my day to day life. In Seoul I can usually get by just relying on established habits using a few words I have committed to memory like “Hello,” “Thank you,” and “Can I have a bag, please?” Some places will have someone who speaks English or will have an English menu. There was none of that in Gyuon Ju.

The Han River runs through Seoul dividing the city into a northern half and a southern half. I live in the southern half, which is nice because the people talk much slower, drive tractors and wear overalls. The mountains surround most views from Seoul, but are often cluttered by large “Officetels,” which is the Korean equivalent to “apartment building.” In Gyeon Ju the mountains are in plain sight. Unobstructed views with limitless trees and vegetation. Hopefully they will get some Officetels up soon so we can more readily identify where the mountains begin and end.

In Seoul we have plenty of yellow dust and volcanic ash settling all around us. If you’re good with a kite, you could probably send smoke signals, or should I say dust signals. Cars carry a light film of dust around with them which allows for you to write messages to the owner of that car like “Wash me.” In Gyeon Ju the air seemed clear and clean. It almost felt as if one could walk and run freely, like, even without a SARS mask. OH the anarchy!

A large part of transportation in Seoul relies on mopeds. You may have thought they were cool in high school, but here they are a way of life. I always thought they were fun, dangerous, loud, annoying, highly polluting machines that freely navigate their way to the front of the pack at a red light so they can be the first to the next red light. But I have come to realize they are really just dangerous, loud, annoying, highly polluting machines that freely navigate their way to the front of the pack at a red light so they can be the first to the next red light. In Gyuon Ju they have Louis Vuitton embroidered Vespas for rent, which really made me miss the typical McDonald’s delivery mopeds that run over my toes in Seoul. It’s true; it’s literally called “McDelivery.”

As you can tell, I was really starting to miss the comforts of Seoul. When I woke up in Gyuon Ju on Sunday morning, I was quite befuddled. There was no construction next to my head, no neon lights blinking and flashing, I may have heard a horn honk, but that is yet to be confirmed.

“You never know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” they say. I came back to Seoul with a bit of sun on my skin and a bit of pep in my step. It was the closest I had been to spring weather since… well, last spring. Seoul is just beginning to break into the 60s during the day. Next week should be the first week we are consistently above 60 on a daily basis. I am starting to get so desperate for warm weather. Until then, I have already made plans for another trip to the beach next month. If something terrible happens, i.e. I lose my Hello Kitty style SARS mask, or get sun burnt, at least when I get home I can get “McDelivery.” Some places just really don’t know what they are missing.

Moral of the story: Take a deep breath…

Perhaps you’ve heard the saying “rules were meant to be broken.” I often wonder who came up with that rule. I believe the person responsible for this rule did not craft any other rules. It would be counterproductive for the rule you are most famous for to go against all the other rules you worked so hard to develop.
I guess it’s more of an adage; or a saying. Like “Don’t put all of your eggs in one basket,” or “don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” I always thought that if you broke the first rule, you were much more tempted to break the second. In other words, if you do indeed put all of your eggs in one basket, then you will be quite tempted to count your chickens before they hatch.
I have noticed here in Korea, some rules were meant to broken (or perhaps they were never established) and some rules were meant to be ademently followed. Only a true Korean can ever know the differences between the two, but as I spend more time here, I have come to learn a few of the differences. This morning I broke a cardinal rule, and if anyone had seen me do it, I assuredly would have been struck down by the hand of God. I hope my parents are not reading this post, because they will without question be dissapointed with my decision making. My aunts and uncles will murmer under their breath, “I might have expected this from the other nephews, but not Kevin.”
On my way to work today, I stumbled upon quite a dillema. A crosswalk. Not a car in sight, left or right. So…, I crossed the street, at the cross walk, eventhough the red hand was clearly lit demanding I stay put until it deemed it acceptable for me to continue my stroll. In Korea this is a cardinal rule of proper street crossing etiquette. I never thought I had it in me. This is a rule in Korea that is not meant to be broken. The last time I tried this daring “Evil Knievel” type manuever, I was scolded by an older gentleman upon arrival on the other side. I turned, looked both ways down the street… What could he possibly be saying to me? Maybe “Shame on your family!”? Perhaps, “How dare you!”? Possibly, “Are you some kind of super human!”? I mean, there is not a car in sight. As I quietly walked away, I thought to myself “Rules were meant to be broken, I guess.”
Some rules, however, are only there so they can be broken. For example, last weekend I went to a large concrete park to toss the football, play some basketball, and share in a nice day with my fellow Seoulvilians. (Civilians in Seoul) In this massive concrete area, they offer normal bicycles, tandem bicycles, roller blades, basketballs, baseballs and mitts, and soccer balls, all available for rental to those in the park. You might be thinking, “How nice” or “I wish my neighborhood had a park like that.” Perhaps your neighborhood does have a park like this. Perhaps it has an area for those with roller blades to practice skating, perhaps a nice bike path for people to ride that really cool tandem bike, a couple basketball courts for young guys to show their stuff and even a grassy knoll for dad and son to play some catch.
This park had all of those things. Except there was no grassy knoll for dad and son, there was no bike path for that really cool tandem bicycle, there was no rink for the hideously uncoordinated to collide into each other on rental roller blades, (“Hey ya’ll, watch me skate backwards…”) and there were no crosswalks with red hands. Without the red hands, no one was sure when they could walk, ride or run, and when they had to stop and go around. Consequently, everywhere you looked there were people on roller blades crashing into people on bikes. Old ladies accidentally riding a bicycle through the middle of a basketball game. A gangly white 20 something on rental roller blades runs over a small child chasing that was chasing a loose baseball on the basketball court. It’s all concrete, so falling is encouraged. It seemed to be an area where rules didn’t apply.
The lack of rules didn’t end at the parks edge. The anarchy even continued into the parking lot where I saw several people standing, cell phone in hand, trying to call the number of the car double parked behind them. Hopefully they answer so they can come move their car. Good thing no one is in a hurry to seek medical attention for that flesh wound from the park surface.
It makes it quite difficult for me to know what’s right and what’s wrong. Today the road was clear, so I crossed. Yesterday at the park, it seemed similar types of pedestrian rules had no application. You did not have to look far to witness a collision. I even watched a father commanding a tandem bike with his daughter ride right across center court of a basketball game. You would think a dad would know better… maybe he does.
Hopefully as the weather turns, and I spend more time outside, I will come to better understand the “rules of the road” here in Korea; on and off the road. Now that I think about it, maybe that old man wasn’t scolding me at all. Perhaps he was just asking me, “Hey, where is your really cool tandem bicycle?”

As with any new endeavor come new challenges. Most of you have experienced and have overcome these types of things before, hopefully. Challenges are good; they make us stronger and more resilient. If you don’t believe me, check your middle manager’s coffee mug. You doctor’s office depicts a mythical golf course with the tee separated from the pin by the ocean and reminds you about “Persistence.” It always seemed to remind me how expensive golf balls are.

But what about those everyday challenges? Like trying to operate a washing machine when all the buttons are in Korean. Or tying your shoe with a paper cut on your finger. Or sending an email on that sleek, convenient, time-saving BlackBerry when you have stubby thumbs. Or how about when you’re trying to pick up that dime you dropped with freshly cut fingernails. It’s nice of the dime to have that extra grip on the edge, but why in the world is it smaller than the nickel? If you don’t pick it up, your breakfast at Dunkin Donuts will be $5.09 and you’ll have to break a $20. Don’t you love challenges?

I do my best to have a good time with my challenges. Otherwise, I may go mad, assuming I haven’t already. Humor helps keep my sane, or so I tell myself. One challenge I do get a kick out of, is grading my students diaries and themed writings. Many of my kids are fantastically bright, which makes for some very interesting writing. Many times their inability to translate ideas into English words is cause for my inability to keep a straight face.

I usually begin putting my thoughts on paper in Microsoft Word because I like many of the Auto Correct features it offers. It allows me to be grammatically incorrect, and being an English teacher, I find that very valuable. For this post however, I would like to share with you one of my student’s stories, so I will need to be careful about the Auto Correct options because I want to make sure you get the full effect of the challenge that lies within grading such complex literary works.

“The Turtle” By: Eddy

“One day, one baby turtle get out of turtle egg and went sea to do travel. Baby turtle’s shell is very soft. Now Turtle can only hide and eat tiny crabs and shrimps. She’s flying under water. Now, her shell is hard, and head is tough as a helmet and she can eat crabs, too. Her name is now logger head.

She wanders far and wide in search of food. At night, she got out of water and made eggs and hide in the sea again. When babys get out of eggs, they dead because other animals eat. But on baby turtle get in the water because she have to travel like mom.”

Such a wonderful story about the escapades of a logger head turtle and the challenges she faces when laying eggs. Or in Eddy would say, she got out at night and made eggs. Sounds like something a drunk collegiate roommate would do.

How do I even begin to correct Eddy’s story? I have a pretty good idea of what he wants to say, and many of the sentences make sense if they were to be literally translated into Korean, but I teach English, so therein lies my challenge. All things considered, it’s not that bad. I just chuckle to myself on the way to Office Depot to pick up more red pens. I accept the challenge. After all, if I don’t accept the challenge, I might have to break a $20 to buy those pens.

Moral of the Story: A challenge is a learning experience incognito.

In many ways, the Korean people I have come across are very friendly. They extend courtesies to foreigners like me as well as their fellow Korean man. Living in Seoul has taught me many things in the past two months. I noticed almost everyone posts their phone number under the windshield of the driver side dash board. Right in the same area as you would find the VIN, if that helps. Everyone knows their vehicles VIN, right? That 17 digit number which encodes information as to the year, make and model of your vehicle? Sure you do.
I thought it was odd that people would post their cell phone number on the dash. Why would I want random people to know my cell phone? Some even have creative and colorful signs that move and light up. Some simply place a business card on the dash, others utilize space-age suction cup technology that literally holds a piece of plastic UPSIDE DOWN on the glass so one can read the cell phone number of the driver of the vehicle. The US has a lot to learn.
I have learned the reason behind displaying your number in your window is so if you are blocking someone in, they can call you and ask you to move your car. What a nice idea. If someone is in your way, you can call them and say “Hey, I know you are getting a haircut, but can you come move your car so I can get to the GS Supermarket, please.”
I wonder if that person would remove the large bib that you wear when you are getting a haircut. Would the barber have to redo that tissue paper collar that is supposed to prevent hair from sneaking down under your shirt? Do you think the barber knows that those don’t actually work? They must not be aware, because they always insist on shampooing my hair, then giving me a shave, coating my neck in 32 year old aftershave, and putting some new “Redken: for men” product in my hair. “Would you like me to ‘style’ it,” they ask. Well, Mr. Barber, although your tissue paper collar prohibits me from swallowing, hair happens to find it quite permeable, and as soon as I leave here I am going home to shower – with a washcloth. It is simply impossible to get anything else done that day without having a shower first. It’s similar to having dinner at Beni Hana. It defies social, moral and honorable code to embark on any sort of public adventure after eating at Beni Hana. Not only do all the people you interact with post Beni Hana seem quite boring (what do you mean you can’t make a choo-choo train out of a slice of onion) but it is also rude of you to be in public exuding shrimp fried rice.
So, while it is nice that you have left your number on your dashboard, how about not parking there in the first place, asshole.
Ok, so that last sentence was spiteful. We should compromise. The phone number idea has good intentions written all over it. In addition to the quite difficult to remember 8 digit phone number; it’s just one too many digits. I still don’t know my number. But that’s ok, you can’t call me anyways.
In a city where people go out of their way to be courteous, you can image the other things they do to make day to day living more enjoyable. I find myself startled on many occasions during the day while walking outside. One of the most fun recreational activities during the day is the clearing of the throat. It’s not so much the profound “Ahem” that dad would utter at the dinner table if you forgot to push your chair in, or the low rumble a politician utters before taking a sip of that really clear, pure, delicious, man I am jealous of his purification system and Jet-Dry equipped dish washer water glass on the podium.
No, this is more along the lines of the raccoon is stuck in the air conditioner type throat clearing. This is more like that first cold day in November and you have to turn the furnace on for the first time in 7 months. This is more like “Man, that wool sweater was good for lunch.” This is more like enjoying a milk shake through the exhaust pipe of a diesel truck. It is the loudest, deepest hawking attempt you can imagine, followed by a nice pigeon style dropping on any various form of pavement. Beautiful!
I have decided to make a game of it, my own version of “Who Dunnit,” I call it “Who Hawked It.” I try my hardest to control my knee-jerk reaction to turn and look at who might be producing this vile and intrusive sound for a split second to see if I can land a guess at the demographic of the owner of this masterpiece. It comes from people of all ages; I hardly ever win. But that only makes me want to keep playing. Was it a 40-something man in a suit? Perhaps an old lady with a perm and a visor? Maybe the McDonalds Delivery guy on his moped? Maybe the young girl with the plaid skirt, no please, tell me it wasn’t her… AH! It was her mom. Should have known by the tone.
Now if we could only find a way to have our spit display our phone number. There is a compromise we can all live with.
Dude, I saw you over there talking to that girl, how’d it go?
Great man. She spit on me, check it out!
Sweet, so you gonna call her?
Shyeaah! Duh..

Moral of the story: When life gives you lemons, spit them out.

I have begun to settle into a pretty solid routine here. I usually wake up around 8:15, snooze for 10-15 minutes before finally crawling out of bed to get my day started. A nice shower in front of my sink gets the blood flowing, a bowl of some sort of variation of Post cereal and a Starbucks espresso that I personally steam on my gas range, which sits atop my infamous Korean Roulette washing machine.
I like to eat my cereal and drink my coffee while catching a segment or two of CNN Hong Kong, which is really the only viable TV station I get. It is, however, in HD. CNN Honk Kong is not as busy as your typical Atlanta based US CNN. The US version has unrelated news stories on the bottom line ticker, Dow Jones Industrial Average information on the bottom right corner, an unseen anchor rattling off questions while three “experts” debate issues on a split screen, LIVE!!! Tweets coming in on the top right corner from real viewers like you, and a live video feed of Balloon Boy on the top left of your screen.

CNN here is a bit different, but it still allows me to somewhat keep up with the goings-ons of my homeland. I think it is important for me to be aware of what CNN thinks is important back home while I am here. Plus, I get all of the answers to tough questions I need from AMANPOUR! Amanpour is an anchor with a show like Larry King Live, but she wears suit coats, no suspenders, and from the best I can tell, she actually can stand up.

I think having a routine is important; at least it is for me. I leave my apartment around 915-920 and walk about 10 minutes to my school; YBM ECC. ECC stands for English Center for Children. Kindergarten class starts at 9:50am every day, we each lunch with them at 12:10, and we let them fly at 2:20pm. Then we rest, regroup with some coffee and a snack from the convenient mart before the elementary school kids come at 3:00pm. I am usually finished by 5:10 each day.

Pretty reasonable you might say, nothing too overexerting. And I would agree. Except today something really threw me off. Threw me for a loop you might say. Now, over the course of this trip, I must admit, I have been pretty resilient. I have managed to avoid experiencing any travel sickness. I have adapted to the food smooth as a silk worm. I didn’t even experience jet-lag; I arrived at 6:00am local time and started work that day. But today something caught me eye today that stopped me in my tracks. I could not believe it.

From the window of my classroom, I witnessed something I will remember for a long time. No, it wasn’t the taxi cab coming to a screeching halt just in time to smack a bicycle rider and knock him clear into the intersection, although that was quite startling. The bicyclist did get up and “shake it off,” perhaps someone took him to the hospital. Ambulances stop at red lights here… so they aren’t all that helpful in getting you to the hospital in what you westerners would deem a “quick” manner.

It seems human nature that anytime you hear tires screech, you instantly dash for the window in hopes that you can catch a live accident. Then you can tell people what happened and what you saw. As people gather, they cross their arms and gaze in bewilderment, using only one arm to point and describe the path they believe the Jeep took to go from the right turn lane to facing backwards in oncoming traffic and how all those tangerines ended up on top of the hood of the Ford Focus with two flat tires.

What took my breath away today was not an accident at all. It was a red, that’s right, a candy apple red Hyundai. I haven’t seen a red car since I left my Ferrari in long term parking at Indianapolis International. They just don’t exist here, all of the cars here are black, white, or a shade of gray/silver. Once in a great while a navy blue car will be noticeable in the light, but even that car thinks he is black when night falls.

I’m not sure what the science behind the lack of car color is here in Seoul, but it sure is evident. It’s like Henry Ford used to say, “You can have any color Model-T, as long as it’s black.”

As many of you know, I have always been one who’s interest in cars is beyond average. I also take pride in my established routine. I like the cyclical motion of things, the human figure 8, if you will. Once a routine takes shape, time begins to move quite quickly, which reminds me that I have been here for 2 months now. As it starts to get warm, time will start to move even faster.

I just need to remember to take everything in while I am here. I don’t want to get too engrained in my routine, my personal figure 8. I need to make sure I am aware of everything around me. God forbid I get caught staring at a yellow car, get hit by a taxi and die in the ambulance while it’s stopped at a red light.

Moral of the story: Keep your head on a swivel.

Hello all,

So it has been a while since I have added a post to my blog, and for that I apologize. I have a few things in the queue that I am currently working on, so there will be no shortage of blog posts in the near future.

What has been keeping me so busy you ask? I appreciate your concern, and I am more than happy to inform you.

I have now been in Korea almost 2 months. I do not plan on ever saying that it “feels like home” but I have been busy making my best effort to get acquainted to the city that I will be gracing my precense with for the rest of this year. I have been making an effort to make my house a home. Before you get too excited, I do not live in a house, and as I already mentioned, it will never be a home.

Now I do have some of the comforts of home. For instance, I stand in front of my sink when I take a shower just like you do. My TV sits on top of my clothes dresser just like yours does, and I cook my eggs in the morning from bed just like you do.

Did you catch that? Yes, I got a TV! Well, I replaced my 13 inch cube with a 32 inch Samsung widescreen HDTV. And set it on top of my dresser. I actually use it as a TV as well as a computer screen. My computer sits on my desk at the foot of my bed. I don’t actually cook my morning eggs from bed, but if I do wish to sit at my desk, I sit on the end of my bed.

As you may have gathered, I am a bit tight on space, but I have managed to make my room very functional. I added a small brown leather couch with a matching ottoman. The couch only has one armrest, on the right side. It must have been designed for therapists, good thing I don’t speak Korean, or I might have read the package and been deterred from purchasing. It just so happens that the one armed couch fits perfectly in my one person apartment. I do feel sorry for my left arm, however, I figure the right arm rest is the reward the right arm gets for always having to be responsible for the movement of the mouse. All that double clicking, dragging, copy and pasting, open closing and even scrolling with the wheel. Ah, the life of a Blue Cuff arm.

A few subway stops away there lies an electronics wonderland. The electronics mart is what we call it, and we have made many visits to this glorious land. It would be like a Cosco style setup, selling only Radio Shack items all strewn about Central Park. TVs, CB radios, video games, keyboards, joysticks, plugs, speakers, wires, cameras, hard drives, processors, graphics cards, blue tooth and more. Anything you can imagine all spread out at various stands in this huge complex. Oh yea, and of course Hello Kitty cell phone covers.

I picked up a wireless keyboard and mouse, so I can now sit on my couch and check my email, Facebook and maybe, just maybe, I will have the courage to go on ESPN.com. I have been avoiding it since a tragic loss in February.

I have added a few nice touches to my swank pad to help make it mine. Add my personal flair to the place. I try and spend as little time here as possible, but inevitably I will spend some time here, so I want to make that time as pleasant as possible. I added a holly plant that I purchased from a gentleman outside of the GS Supermarket. I am afraid it might grow into a tree and then I will have no room for it. We will see, right now it sits on the corner of my desk and the red hollies add a nice color to the green plant.

I am doing what I can to be comfortable while I am here. It is kind of like a quiet refuge, away from all the lights and noise that pollute the city of Seoul. An escape from the lingering cold that just doesn’t seem ready to leave.

I really like the setup I have created. My TV is a perfect size, my couch is comfortable, and a good listener. My holly plant is green, and my candles smell of rich vanilla. My right arm well rested, my feet up on the ottoman.. now if I can only get my left arm to cook me some eggs.

Moral of the story: Home is where the heart is. . .

Seasons greetings,

I have noticed a theme in my comments section regarding the legitimacy of my experience here actually centered around teaching children. I can assure you it is, and thought perhaps I should provide some photographic evidence of such.

I do indeed work at an English school E.C.C. is the name of the school. English Center for Children. We have kids ages 3-6 in the morning, and 8-14 in the afternoon and evening. Class goes until as late as 7:30 pm. Even on Friday. I had to fill in for a teacher this past Friday night in  45 minute class of seven 12 year olds that began at 6:40p. I didn’t mind, but if I were a student I would be quite frustrated. They, however do not seem to mind. They are used to it. Many are awake until 11 or 12 at night finishing their studies, then awake at 7 or 8 am to start it all over again. Many have school on Saturday. But when everyone else does it, and you have been doing it since .. forever, it’s not a big deal. Korea spends more money per capita on education than anywhere else. The US has a long way to go in this regard.

Our school put on a full scale play last Thursday for the parents and families of the students. The students learned songs and dances in English, and they did a tremendous job. I played the roll of a Great Big Enormous Turnip in the second act. In total the play lasted about 75 minutes and was quite an amazing production. The teachers worked very hard to get the students ready, and again, everyone did a great job. I will work on putting together a YouTube account so I can post some videos of the event.

This is Rainbow Class. They are all about 6 years old.

“Foreign Teachers”

This is Rainbow Class. They are all about 6 years old.

Sunshine class. Julie the Big Eater is on the left. Then Timbo, Timmy and Frank.

Wisdom class. I dont teach them but the outfits are photo worthy.

Rainbow class.

When I was growing up, actually I still am growing up so maybe I should change that to the “present participle” tense, I did not enjoy or look forward to reading/writing in any way shape or form. (It is interesting how much freshman year high school English I am re-learning recalling with this job.)* I never really held myself in high esteem in language arts because I never felt I was good at it. I took Honors courses in Biology, Algebra and World History, but never in English or Literature.

The former subjects were much more systematic and memorization based. In Biology I could make flash cards for the Animal Kingdoms and I could see, feel and touch the animals we dissected. In Algebra I could memorize the equation, and practice it with various variables (Potent Potables). World History was rooted in geography, which I enjoyed because in the summer before my freshman year of high school we took a family trip to Europe. I felt like a modern-day Viking and enjoyed learning about different countries.

English on the other hand had very little essence of formula to me. Adverbs usually end in LY, but aren’t only words that end in LY. Can you count the adverbs in that sentence? A noun is a person, place or thing. But they are also indirect objects, direct objects and subjects of prepositions. Lots of rules, lots of exceptions and lots of ways to say the same thing. I didn’t care so much about expression as I did getting a point across. And then I wanted to move on. I’m sorry; And then I wanted to move on to the next topic. How dare I end a sentence with a preposition!

In creative writing classes, where I was instructed to write about whatever I wanted, I never had anything I wanted to write about. Especially 300 words worth! I think in many ways my creativity was not channeled into traditional formats of creative expression. I was never artistically creative or gifted. While my ceramic pot survived the high and mighty “kiln”, it was uneven just like yours. My drawings consisted of “still life” style drawings, cars, and people that looked like extras in a Tim Burton movie.

Now that I have taken on the task of writing freely, I take it upon myself to sit down at my computer and type away. I am not to the point of doing this every day, although I may in the future. I find myself thinking for a day or two about what to write about next. Sometimes it just comes to me, but I usually formulate a few ideas, write some of them down, and then see where they take me. This seems to be a creative process that works for me, whereas the idea of sitting down with a pencil, paper, 25 lines and 35 minutes provides me with anything but. (For instance, this post took me just over 3 hours to write, and I began formulating the idea on Sunday)

I believe my writing style is in many ways “established”. When you find my posts in various media outlets, you can immediately identify it and say, ahh yes, that sounds like a Kevin McCanna blog post. Similar to a Crash Test Dummies song, or a pair of Tommy Hilfiger jeans; they transcend the boundaries of space and time. Having an established writing style is one thing, but the ability to convey an experience through this limited set of words we refer to as language is expression. I believe my expression has grown faster in the past month than in the many years my parents sacrificed in various tuition payments and after school activities to all the different scholastic institutions I attended. 8 in total from Kindergarten to University.

I was always envious of kids who had been in school with each other from k-8 or k-12. In some cases k-college grads. What amazing bonds you make. On the other hand, many were impressed by my ability to meet new people and make new friends. Which one would you prefer? Does language really allow you to express the bond you have with someone you have been friends with since you were 4? Can you actually explain what it is like to meet someone and realize that person shares your outlook and can finish your sentences? (Besides the words used to finish said “sentences”)

To me that is where language has an overdrive button. In math, you can dig deeper, you can get into mathematical theory, elaborate on derivatives, and analyze statistics. You can study the various cohorts of people, British and Roman empires, the Egyptians, and even your favorite and mine; the Homo Erectus. Language is a catalyst. Language is a vehicle. (That sentence is a metaphor)

I have always been a “talker”, one who reveled and enjoyed conversation. Now that I have exponentially reduced the amount of people I can converse with, I am forced to explore other avenues and other methods to “express” myself. Thus the expression of language is appearing and evolving via my fingers and my home row. I believe there is a saying about when one door closes a window opens. And I always thought it was cool to climb in and out of windows.

Moral of the Story: Creativity is the only word Webster should never define.

*Special thanks to Richard “Dick” Nuttall (RIP) of Cathedral High School in Indianapolis.

Click HERE to set this blog as your home page. I won’t be offended if you opt to stick with “the Goog,” but my advertisers might. I encourage you to read some of my older posts. While you most likely already know the outcome of the story from CNN or Perez or a number of other media outlets that follow my every move, I think you will still be entertained by the manner in which the story is told.

In the “About Me” section, which I custom-crafted like a corner cabinet, you will learn that I now have light green towels. It was an unintentional change of pace from the boring white towels I “borrowed” from the Hotel Avichon, which was the love motel I called home for the first few days I was here until my apartment was ready. Love motels are very popular here because so is living at home until you are 30. And by living at home I mean mom dad, brother, sister, sister, grandma and pet flying squirrel. Sometimes it’s nice to escape from the large round judgmental eyes of that pet rodent. Even though he is sooooo cute, aren’t you Chippy, aren’t you?! Especially when you gnaw on my dresser, leave poo pellets in the sink and bury my coffee beans in my sweaters for your upcoming winter hibernation.

I am at a huge disadvantage when it comes to laundering my clothes. I had a decent grasp on it back home; whites on the hot setting, colors on the colors setting. Then I would toss everything in the dryer, except for a few sweaters, which I usually dry clean. If you know me, you know how much I love my sweaters. Especially my v-neck sweaters.

Well now I don’t have a dryer, just a super high tech LG TROMM washing machine with everything labeled in Korean. I can’t possibly convey how exciting that is. The whole machine is basically operated by a large dial in the center that rotates allowing me to select from 360 degrees of washing options. I usually play a game I call “Korean Roulette” and go from there. Thus, a set of dark green sheets donated some dye to said bland white towels, which really brightened my day. I also had a pair of white boxers with a sunglasses pattern in that load. I now have a pair of St. Patrick’s Day boxers with a sunglasses pattern.

I am sure future games of Korean Roulette, while much safer than the long time favorite Russian version, will provide many more pleasantries in the future. I have actually found myself playing lots of fun new games with myself being here in Korea.

One of the other games I play is simply a game of internal debate. As if I don’t stand out enough here in the most homogenous country in the world, I have found myself talking to myself. No you don’t. Yes I do. Ok fine you do. I know I do. It usually happens when I am shopping, or trying to make decisions. I find myself reading things out loud. At Paris Baguette, asking myself what is in a “well being sandwich?” As if a 6’ tall white American male doesn’t stand out enough, now he is talking to himself. I never used to talk to myself. My assumption is that no one really understands me, so it is nice to have a little monologue, er… dialogue? with someone other than a 4 year old. I must say, I am quite the conversationalist. You sure are!

Literally, everyone is Korean here. Well… duh, Kevin. I mean, yes I did kind of “expect” it. But there really is no diversity. Similar to the place I grew up. But we at least had SOME diversity. Rajeev Ram (google him) was in my graduating class along with about 899 other kids. In Chicago there seemed to be a nice mix of people from everywhere. (Polish folks from Polish Village, Ukrainians from Ukrainian Village, Chinese from Chinatown/Cermack, hipsters from Wicker Park, Big Ten Alumna from various Midwest cities paying too much for rent in Lincoln park; see, very diverse, mixed and virtually impossible to generalize any one person or area.)

It seems to help me have a true feeling of submersion into the culture, but I do miss the flavor that diversity brings. People notice me, that’s for sure. It is kind of fun getting stared at as I walk down the street. I wonder what they think when they see me. Sometimes young people will say hello. They like to practice the English words they know, which I can relate to as I enjoy saying “Hola, como estas” to my Hispanic friends. I appreciate when they do and always return the hello. They seem to get a kick out of it. Similar to my students when I surprise them with the Korean words I am learning in my Rosetta Stone lessons.

I think part of the fun comes from the fact they really never hear “bad” Korean. Everyone here speaks Korean; naturally and fluently. Unless your pronunciation is near flawless, they have a difficult time understanding what you are saying. For more on this, read “Where the Streets Have No Name.” Therefore I like to entertain my children with my own rendition of “Anyong ha say yo” which always makes them laugh. Few things are as true and honest as a child’s emotions. There is something about my children’s laughter that makes me want to repeat “Anyong ha say yo” over and over again. But if I did that, I might as well get a job at the GS Supermarket.

(Inside joke for all of my trusty readers, I’m here for you By the way, I had over 60 Unique Visitors on Thursday. )

Moral of the story: Laughter is the same word in all languages.